There comes a time in every little girls life, when you have to say “Fuck you, ass-hat”, and take those sweet cheeks eastbound and down.

And NOW, is one of those moments. I’d like to commemorate it with a rant because there is nothing I enjoy more than shoving my half-baked pretension down your pie hole.

And much to your dismay, I’m not referencing a cheating boyfriend or a girlfriend who “omg totes wore the same dress as me”. I’m referencing my very own grown-up job. I’m 2.5 ulcers deep and really over working for my manager who is a sorry excuse for a carbon footprint. To add insult to more insult, I’m running out of artful ways to verbally express my contempt for said penile implant.

So here’s my notice of ‘peacing-outage’. I realize some of you may actually try to send this to my boss or may think, what if he finds out? Well, if you do send it, you will forever live in the shadow of my awesomeness and you will live out your life as the human equivalent of a pile of festering dog shit on a hot sidewalk. Cool beans?

Dear ****

I’ve fantasized about my moment of resignation, ever since you asked me if I was sure that it was a ‘website’ and not a ‘webcite’. Our subsequent encounters only served to sharpen my desire to want to jam a stapler into my left eyeball. I thank you for the immense amount of self-control you’ve empowered me with. It is remarkably difficult to not kick you square in the taquito, every single time you inhale. And although, I have enough terrible things to say about you to fill all of the empty alcohol bottles and condom wrappers in Tara Reid’s basement. I leave you with this…

Someday, in the not-too-distant future, I will be a millionaire. And not one of those benevolent son-of-a-bitch millionaires that plants trees and drives a whole family of Priuses. I’m going to be a complete snatch about it. I’m going to gather the fattest stack of bills I can hold in my oompa loompa-sized fist and I’m going to totally smack you with it. I can’t imagine a more humiliating defeat for you, other than your complete lack of talent and overall potato shape. It won’t even be a violent slap, but the echo of humiliation will live on forever.

Peace out Dickbox! I’m gonna urinate on your swivel chair!